PART 2, CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

It was an odd but beautiful
sight. The scarlet leaves shaken from
their homes within the past couple of weeks, partially covered by white snow
which continued to descend upon the city.
Large flakes danced in the hospital lights, some sticking briefly to the
window before melting. In their places,
drops of water briefly crept down the portal. One after the other, like the
tears that had streamed down Rebekah Rose’s face less than an hour ago.

Davies’ song must have struck
her hard. Only a few nights ago, Dan had
lifted the weight from her heart, only to add several cast iron plates to the
imaginary bar pressing against her chest.
He’d declared things meant for another time and place, and then had told
her kindly but sternly to move on. Things would get easier.

Easier for whom?

Great way to handle a
student, an eighteen-year-old girl who’d been betrayed by a teacher and her own
father within months. A girl who often
marched against metaphorical winds comparable to those that suppressed tree
growth in Wuthering Heights.

With Allie in a coma and the
cafeteria eerily quiet and empty, the ghostly implications found in that novel
gave him a chill. Not that he believed
human spirits roamed the earth, but there were other things. Things would that would gladly suck the life
from his sweet, little sister and smother aspiring young women like Rebekah
Rose.

The lights flickered.

Peeling himself from the
window scene, he sat in the chair Rose had occupied moments before his idiotic
declarations, and imagined a beer bottle in his hand. Admitting to Ryan his desire for intoxication
since father’s arrival would add another item to his growing list of foolish
actions.

Dan, with Rose’s abandoned
cup in his hand, gazed up at the ceiling before lifting the sickeningly sweet
drink to his lips. She hadn’t touched
it, she’d announced before returning to Ryan.

“If you need a good caffeine
buzz, it’s all yours.” She’d knit her brows, her eyes sparkling with what he
believed to be more tears, and then she’d reached for him. He’d nearly stolen her hand but thankfully
she’d withdrawn. Slowly she’d turned and
shuffled away. Disappointed in her
teacher, still hurting and confused and in great need of help.

His father shouldn’t have
messed with her; but having been chastised by his own student, Dan realized
that Oliver’s influence had once again reared its ugly head. Mainly in his suggestion that he’d move Rose
and her mother to a different city.

Damn if Dan couldn’t be stupid sometimes.

However, his father needed a
good slug, one that Dan had nearly delivered the night of his arrival; but only
brutes like Brian lashed out violently.
And Rose had actually considered his ridiculous invitation to the dance?

Dan hadn’t dealt with Brian
as irrationally as she probably thought, but sharing his conversation with the
young jock wouldn’t have been wise, either.

The lights flickered
again. More like a wink than a
flicker. Dan gulped the cappuccino and
his stomach soured. Not enough
punishment for his failures.

A blond man carrying a tray
sat down with his back to Dan, five tables ahead of him. He and Dan were the only diners, which seemed
fitting.

Seclusion was what he needed
now. If any change occurred in Allie, strained
relationships wouldn’t keep his family members from finding him.

His mother had changed. He’d seen it in the way she gazed at him, in
the way she’d repeatedly patted his back and in the prayers that she frequently
offered throughout the days and nights.

But why now? If she’d found faith in Christ, why had she
waited until now to show it? Perhaps
some other religion or cult had snagged her, but he wouldn’t know until later.
Either his father’s disapproval of Christianity had kept his mother silent or
she and Dan had silently communicated some sort of pact- no serious discussions
until Allie awakened.

He couldn’t explain it, but
the resentment for years of neglect kept its noose around his spirit, and it
seemed no amount of prayers had cut the rope binding him to the past. Maybe he stood subconsciously but purposely
in the way of healing.

Why, though? He licked his lips, tasting salt.

Why would he prevent
resolution? During emotional times like
this, grudges only compacted the depression.
Longing to hold his mother and push her away at the same time, he felt
like one of those conflicted characters in various novels he’d read and studied
for years. Especially when he considered he’d been doing the same thing to
Rose- wanting to embrace her and push her away at the same time; and the one
woman he felt no inhibitions about holding wouldn’t allow him to hold her.

He ran his hand through his
hair, the image of Grace dancing against his closed eyelids. He needed her here but knew she was better
off at home.

He shoved Rose’s sugary
muffin aside and thought about buying a healthier snack- he hadn’t eaten all
day- but his legs wouldn’t budge.

Whiskers on his cheeks
pricked his fingers and he caught his reflection in the window beside him. Though dim and somewhat warped, his scattered
waves stood out clearly as the scarlet leaves peering between broken spots in
the snow sheet. The top three buttons of
his shirt had been undone, so he appeared sloppy as hell.

Did it matter if he buttoned
them? Who did he need to impress?

His Creator knew the depths
of his pain and only He had kept him from drowning in it; but if others
observed him in such a state, why would they listen if he tried to share his
faith?

Why should anyone listen to
him, hypocrite that he was? He wondered
if even Allie, upon awakening from her deep sleep, would want to hear any of
his lectures ever again.

Ryan certainly wouldn’t, not
after clarifying his justifiable suspicions about Dan and Rose.

He heard something thump
against the floor and then the certain whoosh of liquid spilling loose. The blond man in front of him shot out a
quick, “Dang it!” and ripped some napkins from the holder in order to pick up
the mess he’d made.

When he stalked toward the
trash can to dispose of the napkins and an empty milk carton, Dan thought he
recognized him. The neatly combed hair,
the flannel shirt, the eyes that reminded him of Kevin Murphy. Usually only women would notice such a thing,
but sky blue eyes stood out more than others.

Dan squinted as the man
halted.

The blond pointed.
“Hey…aren’t you….?” He glanced around as
though searching for someone. “Are you
here with Grace?”

Dan blinked. “Pardon me?”

“You…date Grace, right? From the bakery?”

Then it hit him and Dan
groaned inwardly. He’d rather sit here sulking and turning his situation over
and over in his head than be forced to make conversation. Nevertheless, he stood, tugging his belted
pants upward and wiping his right hand on the black material before walking
over and offering to shake.

This guy, a regular at Grace’s
bakery, one Grace seemed to trust, was none other than John Carpenter. Dan remembered the name only because of the
work van that bore his name in big red letters:
Carpenter Carpentry. Then, of
course, he remembered the name because of Indiana Jones movies. John Carpenter films.

John returned Dan’s shake, no
smile coming to his eyes or even a hint of one. With whiskers dotting his face
and his top shirt buttons undone, John resembled a blond reflection of Dan-
only with neater hair and a taller stance.

Dan pocketed his hands, gnawing
on whether to inquire about John’s presence at this death hotel.

John’s sullen countenance
fell toward the window, giving Dan the impression he wished he hadn’t struck up
a conversation.

“You might want to tell
Grace,” he said suddenly. “Diana’s here.”

“Diana?”

“My….” He rubbed his chin as
he thought. “She’s sort of related and
Grace knows her well.”

“What happened?”

He closed his eyes and turned
slightly…the same way Dan would react if someone asked about Allie.

“It makes me sick,” John replied.

“What?” Without details, he couldn’t relay much information to Grace.

“She…” He smoothed his already combed hair. “She slit her wrists.”

Dropping his hand, John
frowned and nodded toward his seat. “I
don’t want to hold you up. But Grace
always took special interest in Di…and I think she needs moral support.”

“Of course… and you’re not
holding me up.” Got nothing to do but feel sorry for myself, anyway.

“I shouldn’t go into details,
but things have been odd lately.”

“What do you mean?”

John scratched the back of
his neck and winced before asking, “Did you notice the lights flicker earlier?”

“Uh…yes, I did. Does that relate somehow?”

John seemed reluctant. “I shouldn’t have said this much. It’s a little hard, handling this on my own.”

“You have no other family?”

“My parents passed away a
year ago, making me her official guardian.”

Dan stared, curious about the
girl’s age while offering his condolences. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on
your plate.”

Considering that John and
his…"sort of” relative were important to Grace, Dan wondered why he hadn’t
heard this story before.

“Listen,” Dan continued,
“I’ll be around for a while if you need to talk. My…sister’s…”

Now Dan looked out the
window, the flagpole near the parking lot catching his attention.

There’s a flagpole rag and the wind won’t
stop.

That’s my soul up there.

Yep. A song for everything.

“She’s what?” John asked.

Dan explained about the coma
and the anorexia, adding that Allie should have awakened once her blood sugar
stabilized, but she remained unconscious.
“Something isn’t right.”

John’s frown deepened as he
took a Swiss Army Knife from his pocket and began cleaning his fingernails with
on of the blades. He seemed to be
thinking about what to say next, so many seconds passed. Without looking up, he finally inquired, “How
long has she been here?”

“Since Saturday.”

The man’s mouth opened and a
small sound escaped, but he shook his head rapidly. “No, no.”

Dan folded his arms, hoping
John wouldn’t try to connect all of this oddness together.

But then John announced with
a quiver in his voice, “Diana came in on Saturday. ”

This revelation was odd, because suicide-attempts usually planted a person in the hospital for overnight observation. After that, they were forwarded to a doctor, counselor, or mental hospital. "And she's still here? For slit wrists?"John shook his head negatively. "She...she won't wake up."

I know what I'm doing.

Smelling roses or playing with fire, closing my eyes in the midst of desire. Thorns may spike me or I may burn; but that doesn't change how much I yearn. (Photo from Stuart Miles/freedigitalphotos.net)

Snippets

“Calm down, things aren’t as bad as they seem.” Say that to yourself a hundred times over.

“They’re not? Because it seems pretty bad to me.” He pointed at the ceiling. “My sister’s up there in a coma and my dad won’t stop scheming.”

“He just wants me to help, that’s all.”

“And what did he offer in return for your help?”

“You think I’d take anything he offered just to help?” She snatched the business card back and slouched in her seat. “I wouldn’t, Dan,” she whispered and swallowed the lump in her throat. What was she supposed to say now?

“How does he want you to help?”

She shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Teacher. I don’t think I need to tell you everything because you’ll find out soon enough.”

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About Me

Not only do I love to write, but I am a stay-at-home mother of three- well, an eight-year-old, a six-year-old and one due on Sept. 1.
I am a believer in Jesus Christ, and my stories will reflect that, but hopefully without being overly preachy. Please enjoy reading. :)